


Know the Ending

by Starffledust



Series: The Ramblings of Silent Stars [3]
Category: Guardians of Childhood - William Joyce, Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Bunny and North are at the very end, Dealing with trauma like all my fics, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Golden Age, Lunar Lamadary, Shooting Star Pilot, Star Pilot, Talking to your past self is a form of therapy, Time Travel, everyone loves the sleigh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 15:28:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29473989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starffledust/pseuds/Starffledust
Summary: The clock before him vanished, its hands ticking backward; that fragile line between dream and reality had finally blurred.His hands lifted the dramatic sand-goggles from his widened eyes, settling them atop his hairline.The cosmos were always beautiful, even from within Earth’s atmosphere. But out here, in between planets and comets, with only vast celestials and space, he was home.And Sandy had been away a long time.
Series: The Ramblings of Silent Stars [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2124735
Kudos: 3





	Know the Ending

**Author's Note:**

> I can never just stick with a Sandy headcanon. It's just whatever's convenient for the plot at this point. Long story short, he can talk in this. It's not explained whether that's due to being in space or because he's talking to another of his species or what, but he does talk. Just be warned

Learning to travel through time should have been hard. It should've been impossible from most points, for not even humanity, with their stubborn innovation and fantastical theories, could begin to unlock time’s secrets.

So, Sandy was lucky then that he had a Pooka for a friend.

It looked easy, after watching Bunnymund a few times. (The Pooka hadn’t actually traveled through time for centuries, but creating and shepherding dreams with only your mind and a bit of natural ability lended a decent enough recollection for Sandy to remember when he did.)

Sandy did not mull over these memories to change the past. He knew too well how many times someone had already tried. Nor did he handle Bunnymund’s old staff with the gentle care reserved for dreams themselves in order to use it against his foes.

And he did not ask North for Ombric’s time records to ease his own pain. In fact, opening such an opportunity for himself would likely cause more.

And despite what some may say, Sandy did not use the Lunar Lamadary’s great clock to perform any Guardian duties.

No, the mission he had given himself—which required such in-depth research of time that scattered magic scrolls throughout his usually well-kept island—was one that Sandy alone needed to take. For his own waning sanity.

But when the clock before him vanished, its hands ticking backward, and so did the several Lunar Lamas scattered behind him, Sandy could swear that the fragile line between dream and reality had finally blurred.

A normal being would have flailed in the antigravity of space, but Sandy slowly drifted down to the surface of a nearby moon, long unused instinct and muscle memory taking over as if not a day had passed. 

His hands lifted the dramatic sand-goggles from his widened eyes, settling them atop his hairline.

The cosmos were beautiful.

They always were, even from within Earth’s atmosphere. But out here, in between planets and comets, with only vast celestials and space, he was home. 

And Sandy had been away a long time.

A nebula, stark clouds of purple, dark, dark blue, and colors with no human name blocked out one corner of the sky. In the other, far off stars twinkled, and schools of Star Fish swam in glittering abundance.

The moon he stood upon was all grey, but its rocks hummed with hopes of a fruitful Age.

Sandy inhaled deeply as long-held tears broke and rushed down his face. He crumpled to the ground, placing his face into open palms like he could ever afford to hold the weight of his own grief.

After a long moment of silence and stillness, he wiped at his eyes and dared to look into the nebula, gaze trailing along the crawling clouds.

He was insignificant here. A ghost. There were no dreams to nurture, no children to aid. It was quiet, and for once since that fateful crash, Sandy finally forgot fear. 

He smiled to himself.

“Excuse me!” a familiar voice shattered the tranquility.

Sandy dared not turn, but his back stiffened, and he sat upright.

“Excuse me, sir?” the voice said again, closer and far more clear.

Slowly, Sandy turned his head to the sound, lips pursed together tightly, guiltily.

Another version of himself stood there, eyes bright and hair tucked under a Junior Pilot-issue cap. The customary one-piece uniform lay flat and perfectly ironed against his form, and his boots reached up to his knees. Sandy’s own curious eyes stared back in wonder from a silver stardust face, one hand laid atop the golden line at his hip.

“This moon is dark,” said himself, leaning forward with a question clear in his expression.  _ Why are you here?  _ it said. If he had possessed the same control over sand as his present self, a question mark would undoubtedly appear above his head.

Sandy said nothing.

“You look sad,” the young Pilot tried again. The question:  _ Are you all right?  _ sat buried in the statement, waiting for Sandy to unearth its answer.

And still, Sandy remained silent, staring blankly at his younger self’s clothes like they were made of Nightmaresand.

His past self sat down at his side, still staring in question. Familiar eyes tracked up to the space above Sandy’s head.

“You lost something,” the other Sandy said with complete security, “and you want it back.”

_ Do not read that,  _ Sandy flashed in harsh, golden script above his head, using the Golden Age’s cursive alphabet in lieu of his usual pictures.

The Pilot’s eyes widened, but his smile only grew. “Was that Dreamsand?” he asked, voice going up in excited pitch.

Sandy nodded.

The other Sandy’s youthful eyes glistened with such wonder that even North couldn't contest. He floated up with ease, circling around Sandy’s head and staring at the spot from where the Dreamsand had sprung. “More wishes here,” he muttered, “but no sand.”

Sighing, Sandy formed an abstract swirling symbol above his head.

The younger him gasped so quietly only he and the sand could hear. “How?” The voice had also quieted. “Where does it go?”

With an indulgent smile, Sandy formed the shape of an island above his head.

Finally, the Pilot settled back beside him, looking up at the island with scrutiny.  _ You’ve been on land?  _ his shock stated. Sandy had never needed words to understand himself.

Sandy gave a pointed look to the ground beneath them.

The past Sandy laughed nervously, following the gesture with his own gaze. “Not moons,” the Pilot said, words shaking and dropping into silence at the end. “I thought only crashed Pilots ever land.”

Sandy turned away.

“But they always die,” his past self continued.

Curling closer to his lap, Sandy nodded.

His own gaze, unweathered by years of battles or dreams, studied the fluid wishes above his head, but Sandy dare not see the eyes.

“I lost something, too,” the young Pilot said.

_ Your family,  _ the Dreamsand around Sandy shivered and formed images of such bliss.

His younger self gasped. “How—?” he muttered.

Sandy only smiled as tears piled beneath his eyes. He looked away, up to the spiraling clouds of space and the twinkling in distant airfields.

The younger him took a breath. “Why won't you speak to me?” he said softly.

That was not a question Sandy had prepared to answer. He looked back up at the Pilot, at the eyes lacking the weight in his own as they pleaded up at him with naive curiosity. To Sandy’s horror, his mouth opened for a second.

But a second is all it took for the young Pilot to lean forward with a frown. “You can. Why don't you?” he said. “You  _ want  _ to.” The younger him pointed above his head, where surely a small silver wish spun, innocently bearing Sandy's soul to the world. 

Sandy stood slowly, shaking his head.  _ No. _

“Why?” The Pilot stood as well, features creased with concern.

Sandy only shook his head again.

His younger self hummed. “You know,” the Pilot approached slowly on light feet, boots kicking up small clouds of moondust, “I remember something a friend said once.” He paused just short of Sandy’s arm span—and, oh, he was so much shorter. Just how young could this past version of himself be, so alone as he was?

A question mark appeared above Sandy’s head, and he looked back at himself curiously.

The Pilot nodded slowly, a satisfied smile on his face. “She said, ‘Our greatest desires are ones we don't fulfill, for fear we will find nothing else to achieve.’”

Sandy recognized that quote. Of course he did, he had known that friend himself, long ago. They had travelled together for a time, but she was so much older than himself and was due for saddling a star any day she came across one.

They had parted on good terms, but the loss still stung.

“I—” he started, then stopped, hands flying up to his mouth. What was he doing? his mind screamed.

The other Sandy beamed. 

_ I wish you would talk to me,  _ dreams and wishes whispered through Sandy’s very being in familiar voices beyond human comprehension. Above the Pilot’s head a silver tangle of bubbles and letters appeared. 

How could Sandy ever deny a request like that? He was a being of dreams, created to grant wishes. And it’s not like anything mattered here. The past had already told its story, and nothing he did could ever change it.

Sandy took a deep breath of the moon’s atmosphere, and he said: “I'm not sad.”

The first words spoken in thousands of years, and they were a lie—what would the others think of him now? 

The younger Pilot leveled him with an unimpressed glare, crossing his arms.

“Please.” Sandy fiddled with his hands, tugging at his sleeve. “I am foreign, but everything here is familiar. It breaks something inside me.”

His own face—but oh so strange and graceful—softened as it gazed back at him. “You know,” the Pilot said, “I think that's been a common feeling since the Fearlings took over.” 

The strange (yet so familiar) him lifted his head to the sky and closed his eyes as if to breathe in the air. “It's so different now. I can't recognize half the planets and all the dreams are new.” He opened his eyes with a smile. “But that's why we adapt. We’re a species of resilience, and with help from the Lunanoffs we can do anything.”

“With a strong enough wish,” Sandy completed.

The Pilot stiffened and turned to him. “Only my parents ever said that. How did you know?”

Sandy shrugged.

The younger Sandy regarded him for a moment. When he glanced down to Sandy’s hand, the Pilot finally smiled sadly and knowingly.

“Someone’s worried about you,” he said, stepping forward. He reached up and pulled at Sandy’s goggles (which still rested on his head, having never dissipated into formless sand). The thick lenses settled over Sandy’s eyes with the aid of the Pilot’s guiding hands, which did not shake like Sandy’s present ones. “I'll let the others know you said hi.”

Sandy opened his mouth to protest or question, but the younger version of himself quieted him with a short pat on the head. Sandy squawked silently with indignation.

“You’ll see,” the Pilot continued. “We can't fight wars forever.” He reached forward and brought Sandy’s hand to his eyeline.

Sandy gasped silently, flexing the fingers which had grown transparent before him, the moon’s horizon visible through his own palm. He glanced to his younger self, who only smiled reassuringly. 

Using his other hand, Sandy covered his younger self’s own. “Thank you,” he said quietly with a dip of his head.

The Pilot nodded back and stepped away, not taking his eyes off Sandy. “I hope we meet again someday,” he said.

With the smile of an inside joke, Sandy nodded back. Yes, this version of himself would get that wish, but not him.

His entire torso had grown transparent now, and he could feel dizziness set into his head as his body hovered between the past and three minutes into his own present.

He closed his eyes, waiting for the moment that wind and birds would make noise outside. Once he returned, there would be no more speaking—of war or anything at all—and there would be no silence.

“Oh! And Sandy,” he heard his other self say, echoing and far away as if they stood at opposing ends of a tunnel. “Take care of us, yeah? Golden Ages don't happen every century.”

Sandy laughed. 

He should've known; he could never fool himself, especially not when it came to the important things. 

In the space between times, he nodded, hoping the younger him would see at least the faint flicker of his physical movements. 

Before he could reply with anything else, birds sang through the windows, and leaves rustled outside. The ground returned to moonstone below his feet, and Sandy stumbled under the force of gravity, righting himself with a silent huff.

He had returned to the present

A piercing battle cry made him turn completely around.

The great doors to the clock of the Lunar Lamadary burst open with the kick of a boot, and North stormed through with a deep yell, arms raised with sabers in each,

“Oi, shut it!” a familiar voice shouted behind him. Bunnymund hopped around North with boomerangs in hand, giving the swords a glare. “We’re here to find Sandy not startle all the Lamas.”

They still hadn't looked at him, so Sandy glanced around for an easy exit. But he found only walls.

“Is essential to yell war cry before battles,” North continued to argue with wide gestures. “Intimidates enemies!”

Sandy backed away slowly, intending to hide behind the clock.

Bunny’s ears twitched as Sandy’s foot padded against the rock. “Oh, no you don't!” he spouted quickly. 

Knowing his cover was blown, Sandy tried to turn and run, taking to the air and starting in the other direction.

But Bunnymund, with his ancient Pookan speed, was quicker, and in only a second he grabbed at Sandy’s arms, pulling him back to the ground. He crouched down so their eyes were more level. “There ya are, mate!” Bunny cried loudly. “What’s the big deal?”

“Now who is shouting.” North stepped up beside Bunnymund, who huffed in exasperation.

“Do ya want answers or not?” Bunny shot back, ears perked straight above his head as he looked at North.

Sandy shifted against Bunny’s grip, trying desperately to slip out of his paws. Finding no weakness in the hold, he sighed in defeat.

The movement caught Bunnymund’s attention, and North followed his gaze to Sandy. 

Bunny’s ears laid back contently as he spoke at a more reasonable volume: “Look mate, we just want to know where you’ve been.”

“Yeah,” North added. “Came asking many questions about time and magic, and then suddenly Manny contacts Pole and Warren saying you are at Lamadary. Then we arrive and you are nowhere around! Thought Nightmares had returned.”

“No,” Bunny said slowly, like the topic was exhausted far before Sandy was involved, “no, we didn't think it was Nightmares. That wouldn't make sense with Pitch all defeated and such. But if Manny was willin’ to interrupt my painting with moonbeams I knew it had to be serious.” He glanced at the giant clock before them. “I think I'm startin' to get at his concern.”

North studied the clock himself for a moment, stroking his beard. His eyes widened. “This clock turns back time for user, no?”

Bunny did not answer, so Sandy nodded.

“Ah yes, that explains it,” North muttered.

They knew.

Sandy squirmed again, and this time Bunnymund dropped him. He looked up into those green eyes, which stared disdainfully at the ground.

Bunny sighed. “Well, I trust ya, mate. So I don't think it’ll affect anything. But tell me if anything goes wack, alright? Temporal anomalies are not something to mess with.”

Sandy blinked, hovering an inch from the ground. He nodded slowly in confusion, for he had expected Bunny to push the subject more.

But Bunnymund only smiled and patted him on the shoulder. “Well,” he turned back to North, who had finally sheathed his swords, “it seems our work here is done.”

“Not yet!” said North.

“Huh?”

North smiled mischievously, putting his hands on his hips. “Still have to ride back to Pole with me,” he said. Then he glanced at Sandy. “And Sandy. You can come too, my friend.”

With a tilted head, Sandy shrugged in agreement.

“Wha—no, North, I'm not riding in the sleigh. It was a one time thing!”

North only laughed and stepped behind both Bunny and Sandy, placing his hands on their shoulders and moving them all toward the door. “Will be okay, Bunny. Only want help with organizing yeti paints, then you can go back to Warren.”

“North!” Bunny cried again as they entered the Lamadary’s courtyard, where the sleigh sat waiting, all six reindeer kicking impatiently at the ground. “North, I am not going into that again! I agreed to it coming here since we were tight on time, but not back.”

“Is too much snow for rabbit hole,” North retorted, gesturing with his head to the white ground. He let go of them both and moved to climb onto the wing.

“I don't care!”

Sandy glanced between Bunny and the sleigh as North jumped into his seat. Deciding that they were close enough, Sandy conjured a large mallet behind Bunny, the Dreamsand hissing softly.

Hearing the noise, Bunny moved to turn, but the sand hammer hit him in the back first, sending him head first into the sleigh.

Sandy smiled and floated into his own seat, watching Bunny’s sputtering with satisfaction.

“I'll get ya for that, ya gumby!” Bunny cried, pointing at Sandy with pure betrayal in his eyes.

North laughed, cracking the reins and sending the reindeer into a run. Bunny immediately fell silent, grabbing onto the wooden boards of a nearby bench.

“Give me a warning, North!” he yelled to the driver, who didn't respond beyond another chuckle.

They reached the clouds quickly and the sleigh leveled out with the horizon.

Sandy settled against the wooden seat, letting out a slow exhale and closing his eyes. Up here in the air, he could almost believe he was sitting back in a shooting star, granting the whispered wishes of children below.

_ Take care of us, yeah?  _ his past self’s voice resonated through his head.  _ Golden Ages don't happen every century. _

No, he thought to himself, cracking open one eye.

Bunny settled prone against the bench before him, shifting every few seconds as he tried to find comfort in this foreign territory of the sky. Pookas were beings of the earth, not the air; just as Star Pilots were beings of air and not the earth.

_ It's so different now. I can't recognize half the planets and all the dreams are new.  _ A familiar smile played at the edges of Sandy’s vision.  _ But that's why we adapt. _

Sandy smiled. The Golden Age had long passed, yes, but who was to say what time was golden and what was not?

All was quiet except for the wind which whipped around them, carrying the sleigh through the air at great speeds. It was so cold against Sandy’s face, but that was okay.

It just felt more like home.

**Author's Note:**

> HOO boy. Okay, lemme just explain some headcanons I used really quick:
> 
> \- In this fic specifically Sandy can talk but chooses not to, either due to emotional reasons or the commonly accepted "he doesn't want to wake anyone." When he's alone in space, away from all the dreamers on Earth, he knows he doesn't have to adhere to his normal rules. Usually I like to think he's physically incapable, but this can be cool too
> 
> \- I use this in multiple of my works, but I like to think that dreams are incorporeal. So while humans can see images in the Dreamsand, they can't see the dreams themselves (which I choose to visualize as silver). Wishes and dreams kinda act the same way, since a dream is just a finalized wish. Wishes can either be "heard" or seen above someone's head kinda like when Sandy's talking with symbols. But only those attuned to seeing or hearing them (like Star Pilots) can.
> 
> \- Bunny gave up time travel years ago. In the books it's never clear when exactly he met up with Ombric in the past, so I choose to believe he gave up time travel before he came to Earth, though he can still use it if he really needs to. He probably helped Ombric so he could become Father Time
> 
> \- Usually I like to think Star Pilots are made just like stars are and don't really have parents. At most, they have others who take care of them until they go off on their own. So, when Sandy says "my parents" it's probably just some random other Pilots who found him floating around one day and just kinda adopted him for a while until they had to leave on their own adventures.
> 
> \- Originally, I wanted the younger version of Sandy to be more childlike, but he literally SAYS in his book that he has no age so how the heck am I to know when he was a child?? Anyway, he still technically counts as a child here, only because I say so and some of the things he says are really childly optimistic. I did put "Junior" Pilot-issue cap, did I not?
> 
> Anyway, yeah. Uh. Petition for hugs for Sandy anyone?


End file.
